


Storm in Glass

by Andreinightleaf



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Comfort, FFXV Kink Meme, Hurt/Comfort, More T than M, Omorashi, Other, Prompt Fill, Relief, Slight Nudity, Urination, Watersports, bladder desperation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 09:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andreinightleaf/pseuds/Andreinightleaf
Summary: Ever since he could remember, the prince was terribly shy about voicing his involuntary needs.[Fill for the Final Fantasy XV Kink Meme.]





	Storm in Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/3016.html?thread=1888968#cmt1888968 .

 

   There’d been way too many things in Noctis’ mind as their journey began.

   It was a peculiar assortment of feelings; when you were about to do something relatively new, yet at the same time, you’d been informed of it long before, giving you time to mentally prepare. So you would feel ready, comfortable enough of the decision—until the day before, night before, or during departure. A mixture of, yes, I am ready, and bubbling underlying nervousness about many things one might not have thought of before. It was a transition period, so to speak. Your feet were not quite on the ground.

   Firstly, his father’s words had settled into him in a warm, secure place in the depths of his being. Then, with the rush of happenings at once, he’d started thinking of everything, in a way. Which he’d already done under the covers of his bed the last night in the Citadel, yet with more on top of it, because now it was _really_ happening. Ignis driving through the blockade checkpoints on the way out of Insomnia made him wonder if any kind of IDs would be required of them out there. The sight of sand, after the very last blockade, turned his thoughts into things like probably getting sunburnt, or if the area suffered from sandstorms. And when the Regalia broke down on the road, there were several other questions—how much they’d spend on fuel overall, and what they would do if this happened again at a crucial time, to mention a few. That is, until he got too exhausted from pushing to care about anything anymore that wasn’t getting to somewhere with _shade_.

   After seeing how isolated the towns were compared to the bustling city, though… a concern of his from before this all started, yet that he’d shrugged off as much as he could in hopes that there’d be inns at favourable enough distances from each other, resurfaced much stronger.

   Vast stretches of land were laid out with nary civilization in sight. The Regalia could run out of fuel, some battles at specific landspots could end up taking much longer than they predicted. Other places they’d have to tread into might as well turn out to be entirely forgotten smudges on the map. The possibility of camping, and other less than desirable situations, were now more of a _will_ happen rather than _can_ happen.

   It wouldn’t do for him to get so anxious over things that could not be helped, yet the worry was a constant, even if usually small nagging in the back of his mind. They were all living beings, with biological necessities. Which is to say… eat, drink, sleep…

   …and void.

   Ever since he could remember, the prince was terribly shy about voicing his involuntary needs. Even as a child, if he needed to go to the restroom, he’d try finding it himself. The isolated washrooms in the Citadel had always been kind to him, whereas public ones were _probably_ the idea of terrible daemons. Memories of praying inwardly for everyone in the place to leave, while his bladder threatened to give… In short, public restrooms were not lacking in the traumatic department, and his tremendous self-awareness hadn’t gone unnoticed by those close to him. Regardless, he just couldn’t help it.

   And in a trip such as this, where everyone stuck together for safety and support… Don’t get him wrong—he loved his companions, their reassuring presence, the fact he wasn’t alone in this. They had his back in and outside of battle, helped him through this daunting task. None of them would be 100% at all times, which is why there was safety in numbers. He was very, very grateful for them, but such closeness was not desirable at all times. Namely, when he needed to “go”.

   In the long car rides, he’d try and plan things out to an extent inside his head. _When we camp, I’ll wait until everyone is asleep to go._ Some days, it felt a bit tight, yet the arrangement _worked_ , which eased him off considerably between finding out how “rural” everything was, to the first night sleeping under the stars. At this point, he was aware that the others knew, though as long as Ignis stayed mostly sleepy as he waited for him to come back, and nobody heard anything, he could live with it. After all, being a prince had the downside of usually never being left completely alone, especially in the wilderness, in the darkness. Even if not ideal, he’d take the best options presented to him.

   Being a paparazzi-and-Shield magnet might suck about being royal, but the upsides were quite helpful, especially now. One was magic; the Armiger, spellcasting, warping. Differentials which beasts hardly expected of humans. Then, there was the much less known characteristic of… larger bladders. Easily ignored, or forgotten, in a place such as the Citadel, or in Insomnia, where everything was at hand. Life was simpler. The royals did well to take care of their own needs. It just _was_ , and the lack of interaction with it meant very few around the esteemed family knew of it. (Thankfully). Back home, he easily forgot it all the time. When he was _alone_ , he easily forgot it all the time.

   On the run, it was different. His voiding schedule was calculated enough that he’d remember, every time the others needed an extra break throughout the day. He didn’t. (Mostly). Blessed and cursed royal bloodline as it was, it allowed him to be able to hold it in fairly the entire day, and only relieve himself at night. A salvation, considering it was the best time. The other three also noticed it without a word, except for making sure to inform him early on to “not push himself”.

   Something was ont to go wrong at some point. Nature, in the middle of nowhere; few outposts; wild beasts; ragged landscape; old ruins; dreary caves; daemons; the list went on. Even camping at an agreeable time was not a reassurance every day. He didn’t want to imagine the worst. Gnarly battle injuries, status effects, getting stuck, or losing any of them. Everything about all this was a far cry from city life, even if royal duties were still fairly draining to all of them.

   And especially draining was to survive a steamy-headed Catoblepas. They intended to only flee the angered giant, not fight them, but… Havens warded off daemons, not actual animals… and hadn’t Takka actually asked them to bring in Catoblepas meat if they could…?

   They were alive, and not badly injured. Yes, that is great. The usually docile creature was slower than they were, after all. Mission accomplished (if they could get the nearby outpost folks to “harvest” the corpse). But, the Humongous-Mongo (as Prompto started calling them in a whine after some time engaged in battle) tanked a ton of hits. The day dragged on. It was exhausting. And after setting up on one of the slough’s Havens, Noctis hadn’t been able to fight sleep long enough to go relieve himself.

   At this time, where it would usually be bothersome, he’d have wished his bladder to wake him up in the middle of the night. But it didn’t. His body was dead to the world, giving out from so many days of gritting lifestyle, keeping him down even well after the others had woken. It was a realization he greeted with horror after trying to brush sleep off his light eyes; his companions eating breakfast, looking about ready to depart, while his bladder gave a warning, _long_ throb, letting him know that he hadn’t taken care of it the previous night. By the _Astrals_ , damn it all. He—he couldn’t bring himself to make them wait for him to go. Common sense—or the full, aching organ beneath his abdomen in disguise, he couldn’t tell—told him to brush off all that uneasiness and stupidity and just do it. They wouldn’t mind it—heck, they were on this journey _for_ him, ready to take hits that could mean their death if only it’d save his own. They would most definitely _not_ _care_ about waiting a few for him to take care of his needs.

   Apparently the disguise wasn’t too slick yet, because his insecurities won in the end, in the form of, _I can wait until the next outpost._

   Spoilers: he actually can’t.

   That hope had been nothing if not empty, a silly desire for things to magically fix themselves. Because there wasn’t _anything_ that could have backed up that claim. Not the fact that his bladder was stretched out to its limits (it might be _large_ , but it was not _endless_ ), or the observation that _wow, even the Regalia can shake in the road much more than I thought_ , or how he was never alone in the car, so clutching himself through his pants was _not_ an option. At least not initially.

   Or the bitter truth that he actually did not have the faintest idea of how far the next outpost was.

   The engorged, sore organ in his lower half pulsed with need, and it was very hard to keep a neutral or straight face. Just in case, he’d turned his head (and partially his body) to the left, pretending to be gazing at the landscape, when in reality his focus was entirely on holding it in. He bit the inside of his lower lip, clenched a fist over his thigh, as well as keeping his entire general pelvic area as stiff and tense as possible. Any kind of pressure to distract him from the overwhelming one in his abdomen, which he desperately tried to keep in check.

   As the drive rode on, and mostly nobody spoke, Noctis found himself positively in suffering. It _hurt_ —he’d trained his fighting muscles, which had endured quite well all this time despite his chronic pain, but not _all these pelvic floor and stretchy and whatever muscles around his bladder_. Those muscles were not used to being painfully tensed for long periods of time. He’d—by the Kings, he was not going to make it. Any five minutes longer and he would grow numb, his insides no longer able to heed him. _Hellfirehell_ —

   It wasn’t unusual for the prince to be so quiet in the car, especially after just waking up, yet Gladiolus and Ignis could tell something was off, just from the sight they had of him; either direct or through the rearview mirror. Right by his side, the Shield had noticed it first; his stiff posture, almost curling to the opposite side, eyes lost inside himself, what was visible of his face flushed and mildly damp. It could look like arousal or—effort. The rigidness was not normal. He knew what having an erection and daydreaming felt like, and that was not it. It was supposed to be a relaxed look, of sorts, with tenseness at most mild. Or at least, not for as long as he was like that. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply—he looked to be _in pain_.

   Three seconds of wondering and slight confusion was all he needed before he placed the pieces together. Oh. He opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Bit his lip until it whited.

   And then, suddenly, “I-Ignis, p—please, pull over.”

   Noctis felt like he was lowkey dying. Or highkey. Even just stuttering the request out—strained, quiet—had taken everything in him to not spill as he did it. Everywhere felt heated and any movement from him or the car jostled the abused organ, and _dammit Ignis please pull over please please—_

   If he wasn’t that desperate, he’d have noted the chamberlain’s concern, and Prompto’s sudden clearer worry as well, yet no time was wasted on pulling to the side, in a section where the road cut straight through dewed grass, lush bushes, and huddled trees; it was a wonder the concrete hadn’t been entirely swallowed by nature at that point. The unfortunate heir, honestly, could care less; he was just glad for _trees_ and _bushes_ and, rushing out of the car, he was literally forced to squeeze himself as tightly as he could manage while quickly and awkwardly ambling towards _at least_ the cover of a tree trunk. Once there, he couldn’t take it anymore, bashfulness be damned; urine sorely slid down from his overaching bladder and into his urethra as he pulled trousers and undergarments down, gently splashing and dripping on glimmering leaves before he could even reach to aim. For the first few seconds of now trying to push the liquid out, instead of barricading it in, it hurt—and then… relief washed over him like an ocean wave against his back. He exhaled, a heady sigh, lingering and heavy with long-awaited release.

   His bladder then seemed to realize it didn’t need to fight anymore, and just wished to get it all out as quickly as possible. The stream was voluminous, and the feel of the stretched organ finally emptying, the liquid’s friction against his urethra and tip—it felt _so good_. Midnight eyelashes fluttered against the top of his flushed cheeks in bliss, legs shaking in the weakness of relief, and he had to lean against the bark to stay standing up. His penis, soft and sore and reddened with effort, felt much too warm against his hand, which was not far off from his entire body, actually. It had taken everything in him to hold in for this long.

   The patches of grass and soil drank in what they could, yet there was so much in so little time a puddle was able to form. Noctis wasn’t much paying attention; his breaths were laced with soft moans, mewls of pleasure from the release. His nerves felt like they’d been set ablaze, quaking with the force of a lightning spell. Was this an orgasm? He was pretty sure he couldn’t tell the difference. It’d been over a day… Astrals, he we was so tender…

   No matter that it was taking a bit; he wanted to expel all the liquid. The weather took pity on him, barring the winds from crossing at this time; the characteristic scent of his magic wouldn’t be picked up by any animals until they were long gone. Slowly, he allowed his upper body to lean in until his heated, damp forehead touched the equally moist, rugged trunk, and remained like that, blissing out as his release echoed akin to a brook in brief freefall.

   Noctis only noticed that it was nearly over when his bladder’s convulsing felt different, now handling a mostly empty chamber. Crystal aquamarine eyes opened halfway, hazily, facing tiny slivers and dripping from his tip. His breathing was still mildly labored, and he took in more to squeeze the last bits of glimmering liquid from the balloon which had given him trouble all day. When he tried to move, he realized he was shaky; the weakness of pleasure and relief hadn’t faded. That was… kind of embarrassing, really. This sort of vulnerability shouldn’t be happening in the open like this. He’d stumble back to the Regalia if necessary, though; he wouldn’t stand around, waiting for beasts to finally pick up on his unique scent. And that wouldn’t take too long if breezes blew; the ground was veritably soaked.

   Groaning softly, he gently shook and squeezed himself, clearing out his urethra as best as he could, before pulling his clothes up and tucking the abused appendage back in. His bladder still convulsed, trying to expel more even after nothing was left, and these twitches, applying pressure to pee in the void, felt shamefully pleasant. A flush of self-consciousness rose to join the fading one of heat and effort, as he started to walk back to the visual plight in the landscape; a moving rock of shiny ebony. He felt airy, floaty, yet also feeble on the legs, still recovering from sensations so intense.

   At first, opening the door and settling back on his seat, the prince said nothing, eyes downcast and embarrassed and words stuck in his throat. He breathed through his nose once, twice, and at Ignis’, “Shall we go, then?”, he finally spit out, “I—I’m sorry.” It sounded more breathless than he’d like. Honestly, he was still all tingly, even with the weight of shame on his stomach.

   “Sorry that you have needs? Chill, princess, nobody died.” Gladiolus waved his hand a bit dismissively, and that was when Noctis finally decided to look up. They all—they weren’t angry, nor as concerned as before. And… why did they, even _Ignis_ , have that little blush on their faces?

   “It’s okay dude, we know how you are. You shouldn’t push yourself so much, though. Like, we really don’t mind.” Prompto’s red was the most visible, with any colour a contrast against his pale skin. The freckles were subtler like that.

   “What we’d mind,” The chamberlain piped in, and then cleared his throat a bit when it was noticeable there was _something_ in his voice, “is His Highness causing himself unnecessary internal damage because of something so trivial. Don’t be afraid to speak up, Noct.”

   Maybe there was too much hope showing in his eyes, as they felt wider than they were supposed to. Upon noticing, he also attempted to recompose himself, gaze flitting between his lap and then up once more. “I. Uh.”

   “We gotta go when we gotta go. No excuses for that.” The Shield applied, giving a small shrug, and then a small smile. “Nothin’ to blame for.”

   “Yeah and, I mean, it’s practically just water anyway.” The group’s blond grinned sheepishly. “Everything might have seemed clean and proper back home, but out here we get bloodied and dirty and sweaty all the time. That’s like… not dirty at all, compared to where we’re stepping.”

   That was… that was very true. Being raised in the prim and gleaming Citadel, with constantly attentive cleaning staff (and even outside in Tenebrae just felt so naturally _tidy_ ), had just made him feel more self-aware on top of his position and personality. As if his very surroundings demanded “perfection” of him. In every sense.

   But now, they were literally sticking their weapons into beasts, covering the ground with blood and entrails, stepping into mud, waving away bugs, sleeping on stone. Bathing was no longer an obligation—it was a _privilege_. They foraged to eat. Impossible to walk around without grass or sand sticking onto their clothes. Sweat from running, walking, battling, or just _standing in the sun_. The land belonged to no one. There weren’t servants on every corner ready to clean a muddied footprint. Outpost folk were usually happy to have any visitors, no matter how beaten and ragged they looked. There was… freedom. Even with the possibility of death where no one would find them, there was also the liberating feeling of lawless grounds. Being yourself, even if just here and there, since duty still bound him. The only ones who could mind were the three always by his side—and here they were, telling him that they didn’t mind, that he was making a storm out of a glass of water.

   The confining glass no longer existed. The water was free to flow as it wished.

   Bashful, yet relieved, Noctis genuinely smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Sacrilege that such a good prompt wasn't filled! Fixed it. I desperately need more Noctis omo/watersports. (No pun intended. Or was it?)


End file.
